verisimilitude
by glitter cordite
Summary: jeankasa/vignette collection/ratings may vary. VII: Fingers relaxed against his chest, thick callouses from the maneuver gear beneath their sensitive tips. Sleep won out, and the sound of rain mixed with that of the lovers' even breathing.
1. nights

**disclaimer: **if i owned snk, there would be far more male frontal nudity. juuuust sayin.

**because: **one time, in my way wayyyy back of writing, (when dinosaurs and bad semicolon use roamed the earth) i decided to start a "drabble collection" and some little shit got on me for my "drabbles" being "too long". because apparently in order for a piece of writing to be considered a drabble it has to be one hundred words or less. hahahahaha no.

(but let's not talk about how i now call everything too short to be a oneshot a "vignette")

**author's note: **to this day, one of my favorite fics is _despotic, quixotic and everlasting _by the wildly talented bluegreenapples. so i figured that it was time to contribute a vignette collection of my own.

my plan is for this to hang out around T rating wise, and mostly be jeankasa. buuut knowing me, the rating will vary and other ships will sneak in…. it'll be an adventure~

* * *

I. _Nights were hot, lips and teeth and so much love. Mornings were cool and clear, hidden smiles and secret glances, apologizing for the empty bed._

Mikasa told herself that it didn't bother her. Honest. She was a warrior, fighting for the hope of mankind, she was strong and cold and- his. She was his and she knew it. She was his and it _did_ bother her to wake up to an empty bed every day. (Cold sheets, bright light, his scent still clinging to the pillows.) It was jarring and impersonal and wrong.

But it was also to be expected.

The Scouting Legion wasn't a place to form attachments. Bonds were liabilities and distractions and dangerous to a team if broken. (And where would you be then?)

Mornings were scheduled up to the point of insanity, training at six, breakfast at seven thirty, check in with your squad leader at eight. (on and on and on. Never a second to breathe.) It was frustrating, and it certainly didn't lend itself towards trysts.

Mikasa knew all of this, she had known it going in, yet it still made her chest ache when she woke up alone. (Alone and sore and so terribly cold.) He knew it too, because he would always stand close to her in the kitchen, brushing his hand against her leg in apology. (It wasn't the same though, as the rest of their team was there and they didn't- couldn't know...)

It was inescapable.

It was completely unfair.

But when he caught her eye across the table at breakfast his smile was brilliant. And when they would pass in the hallways during the afternoon, he'd grab her wrist and pull her in for a kiss. (usually sending a stack of papers flying in the process.) At dinner he'd watch her, tawny eyes bright, and she could practically feel the heat creeping up her torso. (She wanted him so bad.) It would never be long before one of them would leave (closely followed by the other), quietly slipping into the hallway and away from their comrades.

And it was worth it, because when Jean's larger frame pressed her to the door of his bunk, and she felt his hands trace down the thick straps of her 3dmg harnesses, morning was the last thing on her mind.


	2. mornings

**because:** slaying titans all day probably doesn't incline you towards being a morning person.

(also because only someone truly evil would ration coffee.)

**thanks: **to giselle, bc damn girl you fine.

* * *

II. _Between her darker-than-normal glare, and the way she sat as if coiled to strike, it was unsurprising that no one in the legion dared approach her. _

_Except for Jean_.

* * *

Mikasa Ackerman was many things; strong, loyal and determined among the forefront. Most of all, however, she was not a morning person. In the mornings she was cranky, with tired eyes and ruffled hair, her usual grace gone in favor of stumbling and shuffling. (And a fair amount of swearing, though most were too afraid to mention that.) Even Hanji, the intrepid adorer of titans steered very much clear of the dark haired girl before coffee.

("Rivaille, she puts even you to shame!"

"Hn.")

It was commonplace to find her atop the counter, legs folded neatly beneath her as she glared out the window and waited for her coffee to brew. Anyone unfortunate to get too close would find themselves pinned to the wall on the receiving end of one of her infamous glares.

("One time I saw it stop a deviant in its tracks!"

"Enough, Hanji.")

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the soft quiet or watery light that came with mornings. It was just the transition from her warm, soft bed (where she didn't have to hidehidehide her fear) to the cold, drafty world beyond (straight back, shoulders strong, solider on.) that jarred her into such an angry state.

(The fact that the Legion's coffee was rationed out didn't help either.)

Between her darker-than-normal glare, and the way she sat as if coiled to strike, it was unsurprising that no one in the legion dared approach her.

Except for Jean.

He, for one, found her more beautiful than ever in the mornings, when her sharp, clean lines threw a harsh contrast against the gritty kitchen she occupied. (Gaunt cheeks and pale skin thrown into relief by the early light- he wished she would sleep more.)

It was one such morning when the lean soldier loped into the kitchen, chest bare and loose sleep pants slung low on his hips. He had known that his favorite soldier was inside even before he had rounded the corner, as the warm smell of brewing coffee had already permeated the barracks. (And no one else was ever up this early, not even Rivaille.) With a yawn he leant against the doorframe and cast his eyes towards the source of the smell. (And more importantly, the small girl sitting next to the melita.)

Noting the glare set firmly upon her elfin features, he spoke.

"Y'know, if you keep doing that your face'll freeze."

Dark hair whipped against the grimy cabinets behind her head as she turned to look at him.

The glare melted off her face as she took in his state of dress, before returning it full force as she (reluctantly) brought her eyes up to his own.

(He noted the slight flush of her cheeks with glee)

"Step off, Jean."

A crooked grin sprang to the young mans face, eliciting a raised eyebrow from his companion. Shrugging nonchalantly, he surged away from the doorframe and padded across the grimy tile to stand next to her, eyes glinting as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Mikasa crinkled her nose and shot him a glare, unimpressed with his romanticism so early in the morning. Unphased, her lover merely laughed and reached above her to open the cabinet, deftly snatching two plain white mugs before bringing himself up to sit next to her.

(He didn't miss the way she watched him move, eyes tracing the musculature, teeth worrying her lower lip, small hands fisted in her lap.)

"I hate mornings."

The tawny man nodded sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on her (nearly bare- were her sleep shorts always so... short?) thigh.

"I hate patrol duty."

Another nod, this time his arm came to pull her snugly into his side, fingers brushing lightly against her soft cotton shirt.

Letting out a gusty sigh, the small girl burrowed into him, bringing arms up and around his waist and hiding her nose in his neck.

"I don't hate you, though."

Another grin spread across his face, and he squeezed her lightly.

"Well thanks, I don't hate you either."


	3. parallel

**because: **sometimes the best writing happens after sixteen consecutive hours of painting.

**thanks: **to my precious beta baby giselle~

**eff why and also eye: **there's some sexy fun in this, though nothing that I think exceeds our T rating~

* * *

III. _"Mikasa," he murmured against her neck, breath soft and warm, "Eren will understand, he's not a total asshat." _

* * *

"You know we won't be able to keep this a secret forever." Jean smirked as he bent to press a kiss against her neck. The dark girl rolled her eyes and deigned not to answer, instead tilting her head back and exposing more of the pale skin to her lover's lips.

"I mean," Jean began as his teeth worked along her clavicle "Eren _is _a dumbass, but eventually he's going to start to wonder."

"Jean..." Her arms came up to wrap around his neck, fingers lightly rubbing through his short hair. A bite against her collarbone and he was backing her up against the wall of the closet, sharp eyes watching her intently.

"He will though! Or if not him, someone else. We haven't exactly been discreet." A kiss to the corner of her jaw.

Sighing softly, Mikasa pulled away from him and spoke,

"But what's the point of telling? If they figure it out on their own that's one thing, but we don't need to go-" Nimble fingers made quick work of her standard issue button up, letting the crinkled white fabric fall open before moving to grasp thin hips.

"Mikasa, did you know that the corporal and Petra were a thing?" Biceps flexed and the aforementioned girl found herself lifted up and pressed against the wall as the young Kirschtein moved to close any space between them.

"I-" Strong arms let her slide down the rough wood until her hips came to hover just above his own.

"Two of the most elite soldiers in the legion had a relationship. _Clearly_ it isn't that taboo." Hands released their grip and the slight distance between them vanished, forcing a gasp from the dark haired girl as her hips abruptly came to brace against his own.

"But what if-" breath hitched in her throat as he ground against her, so hard and male and desperate.

"What?"

Another slow grind,

"It upsets Eren?"

She arched into him as he ran his hands up the back of her thighs, using his leverage to pull her more firmly against the unmistakable bulge in his pants.

Panting softly, Mikasa turned her head to the side, avoiding his hot gaze as she studied the floor.

"Mikasa," he murmured against her neck, breath soft and warm, "Eren will understand, he's not a total asshat."

Lips found her pulse point and mouthed at it lightly as his hands began to creep towards the inside of her thighs.

"I know, but-" she faltered, fighting to control her unsteady voice, "But I have no clue how he'll take the news, and I don't want him to... become reckless"

(He was always reckless, but they both knew what she really meant. Neither of them wanted him incited to rage.)

The tawny man abandoned her legs in favor of bracing himself against the wall with one hand, and tilting her head by the chin with the other. Eyes firmly locked, he spoke.

"Mikasa, I'm not asking for an official announcement or anything, but I'd like to be able to sit with you at dinner. Or kiss you in the mornings when you're cranky and the coffee is taking too long to brew."

He pressed his lips to the edge of her mouth.

"I want to be able to smirk at Eren when you have to walk gingerly, and when your scarf isn't just worn for sentimentality."

She shivered and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck.

"Please, allow me just that."

The girl considered for a second, brow furrowed and eyes downcast as the man before her waited with baited breath.

"Alright," she began, cutting him off with a warning glance as he made to speak. "But please, don't go starting any fights," another sharp look. (_Dont get distracted by his grin_) "And if he does get violent, please don't hurt him _too_ badly."

Triumphant, Jean gave a crooked grin and lowered his lips to hers, catching a moan in his mouth as he pressed his hips up and into her own. Long fingers tangled in short hair, and as their kiss broke, he could see his own elation reflected back at him in bright grey eyes.


	4. training

**because: **posting from scotland is badass.

**authors note: **this ideas totally supposed to be a three sentence fic for tay. bahaha three sentences. that's cute. anyways, enjoy some high school!au

_ IV. In retrospect, Jean realized that maybe he shouldn't have believed Connie when he called himself a "wise man"_

* * *

A wise man once said:

"your dick will only get as far as your ego allows." Which, quite honestly, didn't make a whole lot of sense, because if one knew how to wield an ego properly it could be your dick's biggest advantage. However, this was lost on Jean because even though he was a straight A student and all, when it came to matters of the dick (or matters regarding one Mikasa Ackerman) he was willing to overlook inconsequential details. (Like the fact that his "wise man" happened to be Connie Springer, for example.) But hey, maybe the bald boy really _was_ a genius. You could never tell with those multiple concussion types.

Regardless, it was this very turn of phrase that had Jean stalled out on the hamstring curl machine one after hours practice, his slightly sweaty brow furrowed in contemplation. His stillness standing in contrast against the loud music and echoey walls of the nearly empty weightroom. If what Connie had said was true, did that decrease his chances of getting the elusive Ackerman girl? (Who just so happened to be his lone companion in the stuffy room.) He'd be lying if he said that being the schools most decorated quarterback in five years hadn't gone to his head, his ego was nearly as big as his bench record. (Which was impressive, in case you were wondering.)

(He tried not to think about the fact that the object of his affection had a nearly comparable set, lest he get a boner in the weight room. Awkward.)

Especially so since the aforementioned girl was only a few paces away, neatly arranged onto the abductor/adductor machine. (Could she have chosen a more sexual machine if she'd tried?) Short black hair was pulled back into a choppy, wild ponytail, and a light sheen of sweat shone across her chest and neck. (The answer was no, she couldn't have. It was physically impossible.) Long, toned legs pumped away rhythmically at the machine, opening and closing with an effortless pull of muscle.

Eyes locked from across the room, and Jean watched, transfixed, as a hand pale with chalk, came up to brush a few loose strands from her face.

The girl smirked and did another rep, thighs closing together against the weight. (130 pounds, to be exact, he had snuck a glance on his way over from the chin-up bar.) Jean tried (and failed) to look away, unable to tear his eyes from the way her lower abdomen flexed, or how her chest moved with her inhalations.

One eyebrow raised up and he watched in confusion as she stole a quick glance down, then back at his eyes, a distinctly mischievous glint visible. Confused, he followed her line of sight and-

Shit_. _

Cheeks burning, his eyes shot back up just in time to watch her throw him a wink over her shoulder as she made her way towards the (empty) girls locker room.

_Shit!_

Dusting the leftover chalk from his hands with a cocky grin, he sprang up from the machine, and made to follow her out.

Thank god for after hour workouts.


	5. closing in

**because: **sometimes a little pseudo angst is necessary.

**authors note: **this takes place far before anything I've written thus far, timeline wise: consider it somewhere after they join the legion but before the female titan arc. relationship wise: this is their very first anything. Part of the reason I write them as such a tight and emotionally deep couple is because (in my head, at least.) they started out pretty damn dysfunctional.

**ps: **sorry if this is a little hard to follow, between my fever, and the emotionally fucked up state I chose to write Mikasa in, things got messy.

**pps: **mad props to giselle for putting up with jetlagged and sick zoey writing, she's pretty much the most bestest.

_V. Throwing one last look towards the man who had put his own heart on the line to help her, she took a deep breath and stepped back into the halls._

* * *

Head spinning, breath caught in her throat, Mikasa kept her eyes fixed on her target as she rushed down the halls. Defiance boiled in her blood, and she could feel the familiar burn of adrenaline in her stomach. Her body prepping to fight a titan that wasn't even there. It was too much. Far too much. Too many comrades lost, too many titans to kill, too much blood on her hands. She couldn't take the way Eren glared at her, or the way Rivaille watched her like she was the monster. It was too much even for her to compartmentalize. She needed at least one person on her side, and as of late it seemed as if that was basically all she had. Just herself, her determination and the man she now tailed through the cold, oppressive halls.

She could see the broad muscles in his shoulders tense through the worn fabric of his uniform shirt, and it didn't help to clear her thoughts at all. The young woman wasn't sure when Eren's snarling had finally gotten to her, but when it had it set off a chain reaction the likes of which she'd never anticipated. Brushing his stare off her shoulder, she cut his filter off her eyes and turned to the man across the room. Like a floodgate, once she had acknowledged the need it had been overwhelming. Acting upon it had hardly taken any thought, or effort. One soft touch to Jean's back, and a meaningful glance as she brushed past, and they were off, Eren's eyes wide as she left.

(_Try and stop me._)

The halls seemed to be closing in on her (_unstoppable and monolithic and so capable of crushing her_) and by the time Jean had stopped to pull her into his dorm, she felt as if she couldn't breathe at all. His arms were strong and warm, and though they were unfamiliar as they guided her through the door she was appreciative of them nonetheless. The heavy oak door fell closed behind them, taking the dim candle light with it and Mikasa finally snapped.

Lips crashed against skin, and hot hands explored, desperation and lust fueling harsh movements. Buckles and buttons were impatiently undone and before long the pair found themselves in a heap on the floor, the bed far too far away to be feasible.

By the time it was all over, the young Ackerman was sprawled on the floor, sore and exhausted, tired eyes watching the light play underneath the door. In the afterglow of endorphins and sweat, she could think clearly, and naturally her thoughts went to the man beside her, tawny eyes closed. He seemed to know as well as she did what this was, his eyes dark with lust as he had taken her. They never kissed. It was all rough thrusts and angry cries, an emotional as much as physical release. She wondered if he had needed it too, or if he had just been playing his part. Whatever the case, he had done it well, and as his breathing fell even she rose, and began to collect her things.

Come morning, they'd act as if nothing had happened, but she knew Eren would see her stilted walk, and the way she wore her scarf tighter than normal, and she knew Jean would watch her attentively, like he always did. Though perhaps after seeing how angry and hurt she was he'd back off. She wasn't about to recognize the small part of her that wanted him to worry over her. She was strong all on her own, and she wasn't about to change that just because Eren had finally gotten to her. Slipping on her pants, and throwing her harnesses and shirt over one shoulder, she adjusted her black sports bra and made to open the door. Throwing one last look towards the man who had put his own heart on the line to help her, she took a deep breath and stepped back into the halls.


	6. tears dry

**because:** though this is short, it's a little important, character development wise. and i promise the next installment will be longer, and feature the return of morning!mikasa. c:

* * *

She supposes that somewhere in the back of her mind, she's always known that it would work out like this. Around her, the whitewashed buildings glow molten in the sunset, and the dying heat at her back mirrors the navy bleeding into the sky. Fingers play with the slightly frayed end of a rich red scarf, habit making the motion completely automatic. And as the two regard each other, she knows she can't walk away.

(She's never been able to walk away from him.)

He smiles at her, and she nods, a few tears tracking down her face as he turns to leave. It'll be a long time before they meet again, hours and years and many many kills, and she knows (like she knows the sun will set.) that they'll be very different people then.

(They're very different people, even now.)

He walks away, broad shoulders catching the sun and taking it with him, warm and golden and strong. She stands, watching, as the sun sets and stars come to life, setting the sky ablaze.

It's a long time before she moves, dried tears long forgotten on her face. Her squad will be wondering where she is, and Jean is waiting.


	7. quiet

**because: **morning mikasa is actually my favorite. (and according to those who live with me, also my alter ego. who knew?)

_VII. Fingers relaxed against his chest, thick callouses from the maneuver gear beneath their sensitive tips. Sleep won out, and the sound of rain mixed with that of the lovers' even breathing._

* * *

For once, Mikasa Ackerman was completely relaxed. There was no tick in her jaw, no knot of tension between her thin shoulders, no dumbass brother running straight into trouble.

No, right now it was just her, the rain against her roof and the steady heat of one Jean Kirschtein. In the warm glow from her allotted candle, his face stood in relief, high cheekbones catching the light and contrasting against the early morning gloom.

With a contented sigh she snuggled closer to her lover, pressing skin against skin and letting a smile break over her face when strong arms tightened around her middle. There was something perfect about those few hours spent in tandem between sleep and morning.

She melted further against him, and figured that mornings weren't _so_ bad. (Especially not as long as she could stay like this.)

Slowly her breath evened out, and sleep began to steal her away, hidden against the soft skin of Jean's neck and the way he made her sheets smell. Fingers relaxed against his chest, thick callouses from the maneuver gear beneath their sensitive tips. Sleep won out, and the sound of rain mixed with that of the lovers' even breathing.

Almost as soon as the peace had been established, it was shattered, flying apart with the rapid fire of a knock at the door. Alarmed, (and enraged- at least in Mikasa's case) the two sat up in bed, sheets and limbs falling away like the leaves outside. Instinctually, Mikasa found herself reaching for blades that weren't there, and a quick glance at the man beside her showed that she wasn't alone in action or in temper.

Empty hands coming up to rub at his face, Jean spoke, voice rough with sleep and irritation. "What time d'you think it is?"

The knocking faltered, before starting anew as Mikasa eyed the window carefully, brow furrowed.

"Hard to tell with the rain. But six?"

(Six was _entirely_ too early to be rapping on anyone's door. Especially on one of their few and far between rest days.)

Sighing irately, the groggy Ackerman disentangled herself from the sheets and leaned off the side of the bed, using one hand to brace against the floor as she extended the other to grab a discarded shirt from off the floor. Resurfacing with the soft cloth in hand, she settled back onto the mattress, shivering slightly as she hurried to do up the buttons. Jean snickered for a second before lending a hand, too tired to properly phrase a snarky comment about how the roles had reversed from the night before.

Mikasa's hands fell away as Jean finished the last few buttons, warm palms sliding down her arms to pull her close before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Wrinkling her nose, the young Ackerman pulled herself from his arms and reluctantly lowered her feet to the ground. Jean felt truly sorry for whoever was on the other side of that door, they had to be desperate to no small degree in order to willingly face the wrath of morning Mikasa.

Unable to repress the smile that came to his face as she grumbled about "cold ass fuckin' floorboards..." He rolled over to flop face first into her pillow, deeply inhaling her warm floral scent and reveling in the warmth.

Disheveled, Mikasa made her way to the door, feet clumsy on the painfully cold floorboards, legs covered in goosebumps from the sudden shock of air. Sparing one last moment as she reached the door to make sure her borrowed garment covered everything, she rubbed her eyes once and pulled opened the door, sticking her head out into the hall.

Standing before her, eyes bright and demeanor somehow defying the early morning stood Eren Jaeger, dressed for a spar and apparently raring to go.

She was going to kill him.

Mind already calculating and strategizing, the dark girl was halfway to shoving his nose up into his brain when he spoke,

"Hey, Mikasa have you seen Je-"

brows knitting together, Eren faltered, taking in his sister's state of dress. (Or lack thereof, rather.)

"Is that his shirt you're wearing?"

Dark eyes dropped to examine the worn green fabric hanging off her shoulders, an owlish blink and then,

"If I said no, would you believe me?"

Frowning, Eren stepped to the side, craning his neck to get a look in the room. Too tired and cold for his antics, the young soldier gapped the door a little farther and allowed him to push past, looking back in time to see Jean (face still hidden blissfully in her pillow) raise a single arm into the air, thumbs up held high.

Beside her, Eren let out a strangled cry, hands coming up to hold his head in disbelief.

"He's in your BED?!"


End file.
